Fireworks
by The Thinking Woman
Summary: It's New Year's Eve 1998, and Sahira wants some peace and quiet to mull over an event from the previous week, but who will interrupt her thoughts? Sahira/Hanssen history, as I imagine it. Oneshot. My first fic - please R&R!


**Author's note: This is my first attempt at a fan fiction in quite some time - the only other one I ever published was another Holby City one on a different website about 5 years ago, so it's been a while! I hope my writing skills have not become too rusty, and that you will enjoy reading this. Thank you for reading, and please, if you can, take the time to review so I can decide whether to do anymore!**

**Disclaimer: The characters contained within are not mine, and I'm not making a penny out of this!**

31st December 1998

Sahira Shah glanced up at the clock above the nurses' station. Eleven thirty-five pm. All was quiet on the ward. There were no elective patients in over the festive period, and only seven acute cases: all elderly men, and all of whom were sleeping soundly. Sahira's gaze flitted across to the staffroom, where she could see through the half-open blind that Sister Jill Turner was enjoying her break. She and the other night-shift nurses, satisfied that there was nothing pressing to do, and that Sahira was listening out for the patients, were merrily chatting and drinking tea. They seemed to be taking great interest in an oversized handbag belonging to Staff Nurse Mead. Furtive glances were being exchanged, and a collection of plastic drinking glasses had appeared next to the sink. Dave and Geoff, the night porters had popped their heads through the door, for apparently no reason, twice in the last hour. Sahira strongly suspected they had smuggled in a bottle of something alcoholic for a midnight celebration, and smiled to herself in amusement. Nurses on duty ought not to be drinking, but just this once, she would turn a blind eye. It wasn't like a bottle of cheap cava shared between three nurses and - Sahira presumed - two porters, was going to do much damage. She just hoped the on-call consultant wouldn't find out, or all hell would break loose. In fact, given the circumstances, it would probably be better altogether if she were not there when the clock struck midnight. Then, if he found out, it couldn't be blamed on her. In theory, at least…

Dragging herself from her chair, legs numb from sitting for hours with nothing much to do, Sahira stretched as she strolled over to the staffroom.

"Jill," she addressed the Sister, "I think I might take my break now, if that's okay with you?"

"Not going to join us, lovey?" Jill asked the young F2. "We've got some bubbly!" she confided, in a loud stage-whisper.

Sahira gave her a tired smile and shook her head. "Thanks, but I need some fresh air. You enjoy yourselves. Page me if you need me. And don't let _Him _catch you!"

Jill returned her smile. "Don't you worry hon, he'll not catch _me_ out!"

The nursing staff here are lovely, thought Sahira as she walked away. It wasn't always like that, she reflected, and she'd worked on her fair share of unfriendly wards. This was definitely her favourite so far. However she wasn't in the mood for socialising tonight. What she needed now was time and space to be alone with her thoughts. She headed to the lift, and when it arrived, pressed the button for the top floor.

Walking to the end of the corridor, she was disappointed to find the doors to the roof terrace locked. There wasn't much chance of finding anyone to open them for her at this time of night, and she didn't want to risk setting off the fire alarm if she opened the emergency doors, so she thought of an alternative plan. The conference room was on this, the sixth floor. A huge room, bare apart from the long table and chairs in the centre, a whiteboard and a solitary flipchart, it had floor-to-ceiling windows from one side to the other along the front of the building, and provided an excellent vantage point from which to see the fireworks that would be set off in celebration of the New Year, just a few minutes from now.

Sahira did not turn on the light, preferring the darkness, and the view of the city at night. Still feeling the urge to breathe some fresh air, she slid all of the windows open as far as they would go. It was only enough to let in a gentle breeze, but that would have to do.

She stood at the window of the darkened room, inhaling the crisp night air. There were a few people walking along the street, but there was very little traffic on the road below, and the hospital grounds were quiet. She guessed most people would be in their homes or their favourite pub, waiting to bring in the New Year. Not her. Oh no, when her mentor announced he would be on call that night, she resigned herself to the fact that she too would be expected to work. She'd had Christmas off already, and wasn't expecting any more favours. Besides, she didn't really feel like partying for some reason, though she couldn't figure out what it was.

The Emergency Department entrance was at the other side of the hospital, and Sahira saw a couple of ambulances turn off the main road and head around the back of the building. Drunken revellers, most likely, she thought to herself. New Year's Eve was always a busy night for her colleagues in the ED. For a moment, she missed the hustle and bustle of that department, with its minute-by-minute life and death decisions. She knew though, that surgery was where she was meant to be.

The time since she started her training seemed to have flown by. The last year in particular had disappeared in a flash. She had been working hard - very hard - pushed on by her mentor, who was generally acknowledged to be the best of the best. The youngest man to have been made consultant in 25 years, he was undoubtedly hard on her, criticising her every wrong move. Pedantic to the extreme, it was almost impossible to please him. Nevertheless, she did want to please him: the rare look of satisfaction on his face when she finally achieved an objective he'd set for her was worth it. As he was not one for doling out praise, the merest hint of approval from him made her feel on top of the world. He was an enigmatic character: nobody he'd worked with seemed to know very much about him, except for the fact that he had originally hailed from Sweden, and had spent most of his childhood at an English boarding school. Thus, he spoke fluently and without an accent, and was said to be "more English than the English". He did not make friends of any of his colleagues, and steered away from social interaction, always aloof, and maintaining an air of professional superiority. Whether or not this was intentional, Sahira didn't know, but it hadn't endeared him to, well… _anyone,_ that she knew of. Not that it seemed to bother him. They respected him professionally, and that was apparently his only concern.

His relationship with her had been akin to that of an impatient teacher and a small child - he would spend hours with her, going over and over the same thing, tutting and sighing, criticising and often patronising, until she finally "got it". Then he would reward her with the tiniest hint of a smile, nod in satisfaction, and walk away, leaving her to bask in her glory. He seemed to think she had potential - more so than the rest of her cohort - and adopted her as his "special project". On the rare occasion he could be drawn into conversation, she had discovered that, beneath the cold exterior, there was indeed a sense of humour. A very dry, very sarcastic sense of humour, but it suited him. And so as their time together as mentor and mentee wore on, she grew to like him, and enjoy his company. She wouldn't say they were friends, exactly, but they were certainly good companions, and she was as close to a friend as it seemed he had. There was certainly a mutual trust and respect, and slowly - very slowly - he started to relax around her. Sometimes, after a particularly successful procedure, they would go to the bar for a debrief and a well-deserved drink. He would never talk about himself except in terms of work, and the only two times she had ever tried to find out more about him, he had retreated back into his shell, and become cold and aloof again. So they stuck to the safer topics of medicine, surgery, history and the arts. Of course, comments were passed, especially amongst her fellow students, and Sahira came in for more than her fair share of teasing about the nature of their relationship, his apparent favouritism, and the "special treatment" she was getting. She did not care, however. She owed it to her parents to work hard and achieve her dreams - if that meant a bit of "sucking-up", then so be it. He seemed to enjoy teaching her, so she would take full advantage of his expertise and years of experience. He also seemed to enjoy her company, as she enjoyed his. By the end of the year, they were on first-name-terms.

Something, however, had changed over the last few days. Since the department's Christmas party, - which he had reluctantly attended, in the interests of team spirit - he had been even more distant than usual. When she returned to work after her four days off, he had barely spoken to her, and seemed unable to meet her eye. She thought she knew the reason, but couldn't work out why it was such a problem for him.

It was only a kiss, after all, and a pretty platonic one at that. Or at least that was how it had started out…

It had happened as they parted for the night following the Christmas party. He had seen her to her door, and, as was usual for them these days, after a pleasant evening out, they had gone to kiss each other on the cheek, as good friends might. Except that this time, one or both of them had moved the wrong way, and their lips had met instead. It was not a passionate kiss, but lingered just too long to be considered entirely platonic. He had hurried off straightaway afterwards, muttering something about "things to do". She hadn't believed him even at the time - what could possibly be so important at 1am the day before Christmas Eve?

Perhaps he was embarrassed about it. Maybe he hadn't meant for it to happen and felt awkward. Maybe he _had_ intended it to happen, but thought better of it and didn't know how to explain his sudden change of heart. Maybe he hadn't changed his mind at all, but was worried how she would react. A world of possibilities spun around in her mind. Did he regret it, or didn't he? Either way, he seemed to have been avoiding her for the last few days, speaking only about work, and briefly at that. She wasn't sure what she felt, herself. She had never really thought about him in that way, but to her mild surprise, found that she didn't find the notion of having something more than friendship with him distasteful.

"Whoa!" she exclaimed out loud. She chastised herself for getting carried away and even thinking about the possibility. Poor bloke - no wonder he was trying to avoid her - he was probably worried she would try and jump on him at the first available opportunity. He was her mentor and her friend, and most importantly, her boss. Whatever else she might have considered, however briefly, must be forgotten about immediately.

She sighed and closed her eyes, leaning against the window frame. From nowhere, came a voice in the darkness.

"I thought I might find you here."

It was him. He knew her penchant for going to the roof terrace when she wanted some time to herself. He must have come looking for her and seen the door to the conference room open.

"Have you no work to be getting on with?" he asked, not unkindly.

"I thought I'd take my break whilst it was quiet. I'd have asked, but you weren't around. Am I needed downstairs?"

"There's no rush. The nurses appear to have everything under control."

Sahira suddenly remembered the smuggled bottle of cava. The clock on the building across the road told her it was five to midnight. With a bit of luck, the women would just have time to drink it before he got back.

A stiff breeze blew through the open windows. The cold air caused goosebumps to appear on her bare arms. Her blouse was short-sleeved and thin: perfect for work on a warm hospital ward; less practical for exposure to the wintry night. She shivered involuntarily as she pulled her arms more tightly around herself.

A moment later, she felt herself being encased in a heavy warmth. Suddenly behind her, he had taken off his suit jacket and placed it around her shoulders. She melted into the warmth and comfort of the recently vacated jacket and breathed deeply. It smelled of him. She didn't know what aftershave it was that he used, but it was clean, cool and crisp, and very subtle. It suited him well, she thought. Almost unconsciously, she nuzzled the collar of the jacket. It was wool, and felt unbelievably soft and luxuriously expensive against her cheek. There was no doubting this man's taste in tailoring, she thought.

She realised his hands were still resting on her shoulders. He must have realised it too, as he pulled quickly away, moving to stand alongside her.

"Did you come to watch the fireworks?" he asked. He seemed to be making smalltalk. This was very unusual, and Sahira wasn't quite sure what to make of it.

"I thought I might. You get a very good view from here."

"Indeed." At least he was talking. Why had he come to find her though? He had seemed to be avoiding her all day. Maybe this would be her opportunity to clear things up, and explain that he needn't worry about her trailing around after him like a lovesick puppy. He placed his hands in his trouser pockets and gazed out of the window. The briefest flicker of a smile crossed his face, as though he was remembering something long since forgotten, and he muttered something, to no-one in particular.

"Pardon?" she turned to him.

"_Nyårsklockan_," he replied. Sahira raised an eyebrow questioningly.

"'_Ring, klocka, ring i bistra nyårsnatten_

_mot rymdens norrskenssky och markens snö;_

_det gamla året lägger sig att dö…_

_Ring själaringning över land och vatten!'_"

Sahira looked at him even more quizzically.

"It's a Swedish tradition," he explained. "The poem is called '_Nyårsklockan_'. My grandmother used to read it to me. It has been read in Sweden on New Year's Eve since 1897. Not always by my grandmother, obviously. It's by Tennyson."

He continued to gaze out of the window.

"I thought Tennyson was English?"

"He was. It's a translation. Not exactly literal, but close enough, and at least it rhymes, I suppose. The original is called '_Ring Out, Wild Bells_'."

"So what was all that you just said?"

"'_Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky,_

_The flying cloud, the frosty light;_

_The year is dying in the night;_

_Ring out, wild bells, and let him die..._'"

He frowned slightly.

"Or words to that effect."

Still he did not look at her. He appeared to be deep in thought, lost in his memories.

Two minutes to midnight. They watched as the tiny people below spilled out onto the streets and made for the cathedral a few hundred yards down the road. They were going to hear the bells ring in the New Year. There was an air of excitement and anticipation. Not for the first time, Sahira wondered why the end of one year and the beginning of the next brought out so much emotion in human beings. After all, it was only a date. She supposed it was the symbolism - rolling out the old and bringing in the new. A fresh beginning, another chance to make things right.

She watched as the minute hand on the clock crept towards twelve. Suddenly, the cathedral bells began to chime and multicoloured fireworks shot into the dark sky. It was 1999.

Throwing caution to the wind, she decided the best thing to do would be to act normally. She hoped she would be able to work out how he felt by gauging his reaction to her next move. She turned towards him and took his arm, gently pulling his hand from his pocket.

"Happy New Year, Henrik." she smiled as she took his hand and squeezed it lightly.

He turned to face her, and, to her slight surprise, allowed her to take his other hand in hers.

"And to you, Ms Shah", he replied. She couldn't be sure, but she thought she detected a slight waver in his voice. Still holding onto him, she gently pulled him towards her. When he was close enough, she let go of his hands and placed hers lightly onto his broad shoulders. She could feel the warmth of his skin through his shirt. She noticed that the tie he had been wearing earlier had been discarded, and the top two buttons of his shirt were undone. From there, she guided him down to her level and kissed him softly on the cheek. His skin was soft and warm, the smell of his aftershave more intense now she was closer.

She half-expected him to pull away, but instead he wrapped his arms around her and buried his face in her hair, breathing in the scent of her conditioner. A strangely warm feeling came over Sahira as she stood with her head pressed against his chest, listening to the sound of his heartbeat in her ear. They stayed like that for several moments, until he stood upright and cleared his throat.

"Right. Well… I have a ward to run. Please excuse me."

With that, he disappeared into the darkness for the second time in not much more than a week. She heard his footsteps echoing down the corridor as he marched back in the direction of the lift. She decided to give him a few minutes before she too returned to the ward. Something was not right with Henrik, she knew that much. His behaviour was most unusual. She couldn't work him out. She couldn't work herself out either - never mind what _he_ wanted from _her_ - what did _she_ want from _him_? His bizarre behaviour over the last few days, coupled with the way he'd suddenly shot off just now - he didn't seem to be able to get away fast enough - certainly made her wonder if perhaps he thought she wanted more than he was prepared to give? She hadn't thought she did, but now she felt an odd sense of uncertainty.

Either way, it was not practical for them to avoid each other all the time, so she made a mental note to set him straight the very next time she got a moment alone with him. She would tell him she did not want any other kind of relationship than the one they currently had. Hopefully then he would be able to relax a bit more, and things could go back to normal. Normal for them, at least: she had never known a friendship quite like it.

Yes, she thought as she made her way back to work, she would tell him he did not need to worry. That all she was interested in was friendship and professional guidance, and that this would be all she would ever want from him, and all she would ever ask of him.

Little did she know she was about to break his heart.


End file.
